


Foxglove

by nekotachis



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Body Worship, Erectile Dysfunction, FE3H Kinkmeme, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Illness, Porn With Plot, descriptions of injuries, relationship building, soft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:41:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27576650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nekotachis/pseuds/nekotachis
Summary: “I-” Dimitri stopped as abruptly as he started, searching for words as he joined their hands together, as if in prayer. “I don’t really deserve such kindness.”Anger popped like a bubble in Sylvain’s chest, and bitter, sour laughter broke free.“If you don’t deserve it, neither do I.”FE3H Kinkmeme fill. Rated E for final chapter. Sylvain and Dimitri stumble through accepting kindness, feeling good, and taking what you're given.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 13
Kudos: 59
Collections: FE3H Kink Meme





	Foxglove

**Author's Note:**

> For this [FE3H Kinkmeme Fill](https://3houseskinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/476.html?thread=266204)
> 
> Take your time and settle in, this is porn with a plot. Rated E for Chapter 3
> 
> CW: Mental illness, graphic descriptions of old wounds

The door to Dimitri’s quarters always intimidated Sylvain, no matter how many times he stood outside it. It was too ostentatious for typical Faerghus architecture: lions in repose carved within the dark wood, gilded leaves and jeweled eyes staring back at him with a judgmental glint.

Regardless, he steeled himself, knocked firmly twice as he had been instructed, and waited. After a pause, the door swung open, and Sylvain was pulled inside before anyone could notice.

Dimitri placed a soft kiss on his cheek. “Welcome back.”

When he pulled away, Sylvain could see his gentle, but infectious smile, and he could only grin back.

They had been meeting like this for several months now, always in secret in the king’s chambers. Dimitri wasn’t joking when he said that nobody could know about them - it would have been disastrous, the king having relations with one of his advisors. For now, Sylvain didn’t mind, always conscious of the effect of his own reputation. Whatever would make Dimitri happy made him happy. 

Sylvain made himself comfortable, sitting down on the edge of the massive bed, unlacing his boots and kicking them off before falling back into pillowy blankets. 

Today had been long, too long.He’d risen with the morning sun to train, only to be dragged between meetings, paperwork, and more meetings. 

“Why don’t you take a bath, Sylvain?”

Dimitri was tittering around the room like a housewife, setting up Sylvain’s discarded boots near the door. At first it was strange to let his king treat _him_ like royalty, almost offensive to let Dimitri undress him, fold his clothes, and draw his bath, but Sylvain chalked it up to the pure pleasure of servitude and let it go. Every act when they were together was like being worshipped, Dimitri pushing his pride aside to devote himself to Sylvain. If Dimitri wanted to act like someone leagues beneath him, who was Sylvain to stop him? He liked being doted on, and it seemed to make his partner happy enough.

Dimitri settled next to him, both of them sinking towards each other on the mattress. He began fumbling with the buttons on Sylvain’s coat, an unfamiliar eagerness vibrating through him. Sitting up, Sylvain helped him. Dimitri was needy tonight, his posture curving inwards as if he was trying to conform to the shape of Sylvain. Who knew what happened today when Sylvain wasn’t around; maybe he got into some sort of fight with Felix again. Their fingers brushed together as they fought over the final button, before Dimitri cozied up against his warm, bare skin. The tips of his hair tickled at Sylvain’s shoulder, his body sensitive after being unwrapped. 

“The bath will be warm,” Dimitri murmured into his neck, placing a tender kiss on an old scar, and goosebumps prickled on Sylvain’s arms. “I can help you relax. You did so much work today, let me take care of you.”

It was a tempting offer. Warm water enveloping Sylvain’s body, Dimitri’s hands on his neck, his chest, maybe more. Suddenly, the soreness in his shoulders and back became much more apparent, and he stretched wide before pushing himself off the mattress.

He felt Dimitri’s eye burning into his back as he sauntered to the bathroom. In the doorway, he turned, a gentle smile across his face. Dimitri was waiting diligently, like a dog yearning for release, and he eyed Sylvain’s body with a shy salaciousness.

Sylvain’s eyes softened, and he thumbed at the ties of his pants. 

“So? Are you coming?”

* * *

Dimitri did his best to keep the water at the perfect temperature, clouds of steam drifting off the tub, muffling the sharp echoes of water splashing. 

Sylvain had let himself be stripped down, had let Dimitri drag his pants over his thighs, ignoring his half hard cock springing free, before Sylvain sank into the tub. A few soaps and oils were placed haphazardly on the edge and a cool breeze drifted in from the open window. Dimitri kneeled on the floor, situated at Sylvain’s head, humming as he reached over for various sundries. He seemed...happy. Content. Sylvain let his eyes slip closed, not even startling at the feeling of Dimitri’s hands on his body, lathering him up with a slightly citrusy smelling soap.

“Tell me about your day,” Dimitri . Under any other circumstance it would have sounded demanding.

Sylvain hummed, sinking down further, the ends of his hair dipping into the water. 

“Well, when I woke up this morning, you were already gone,” Sylvain said. Dimitri made a discontented sound, rubbing his shoulders a bit harder in response. “It’s OK, it made getting out of bed easier.”

Dimitri’s hands felt so big as they swept down his front, cupping at Sylvain’s chest before kneading at soft flesh, rippling the water. His nipples pebbled in response and he leaned his head into the crook of Dimitri’s elbow. 

“I skipped training this morning, since I was up late with you last night,” he continued, airy and light. Dimitri’s hands slipped down further, fingers rubbing through the hair on Sylvain’s stomach, the sensation muddled under the warm water. Last night had been a typical evening for them, a few hours of catching up on letters before settling down into bed.

“Then...well, you rushing me through breakfast, and then we had meetings all day.” Under the water, Dimitri groped at Sylvain’s erection, hard and hot, and Sylvain gasped, arching his back, head thrown back across the crook of Dimitri’s elbow. Dimitri’s voice remained steady, seemingly unaffected by the feeling of Sylvain’s arousal in his hands, and Sylvain whined, wanting more, needing more. 

When Dimitri leaned down to kiss him, Sylvain pulled him deeper, sloppy and wet, the angle awkward. Both hands were on him now, groping at his chest and fondling his balls, and he swore he was melting, every touch and squeeze electric. He mouthed at Dimitri’s jaw, a silent plea that received no response. 

Sylvain gulped, reaching up behind him to wrap his arms around Dimitri’s neck, pulling him closer. “I wanna touch you…”

Dimitri’s hands stalled, and Sylvain rutted up against them, clueless. 

“I’m happy taking care of you right now, Sylvain.” Dimitri laughed, a tinge of nervousness in it, and Sylvain whined, bratty.

“C’mon, Dima. Baby,” Sylvain begged, sitting up and letting the soapy water cascade down his body, “You take care of me every night. Please?”

He looked up at Dimitri under long, wet eyelashes, lips full and soft, grasping his forearms as water dripped onto the ground. Dimitri was tense underneath his grip, nervous laughter bubbling up as he carefully pried Sylvain’s hands off of him, threading their fingers together as a sign of appeasement.

“It’s really OK. Can we go back to the bath?”

Confusion marred Sylvain’s face. Ever since they’d been together, Sylvain was always the one naked, always the one being fondled and groped. At first, Sylvain had felt greedy, but Dimitri seemed so confident when he assured him that it was what he wanted that he just dropped the subject. It wasn’t the weirdest arrangement Sylvain had ever taken part in and he knew that Dimitri would tell him his secrets on his own schedule. It was useless pushing him, like trying to barrel through a brick wall. 

What he didn’t expect was the look of disappointment clouding Dimitri’s vision when their gazes met.

“Dimitri. What’s going on?” An edge of franticness tinted his voice. Everything had been going so well. For once in his life, Sylvain was intentionally trying not to be an ass, and he felt like he missed some sort of cue, something about relationships that he was never taught and should have known. His stomach dropped - was it their rank that made things complicated? Their history? His history that fucked everything up? 

“I-” Dimitri stopped as abruptly as he started, searching for words as he joined their hands together, as if in prayer. “I don’t really deserve such kindness.”

Anger popped like a bubble in Sylvain’s chest, and bitter, sour laughter broke free.

“If you don’t deserve it, neither do I.” 

Dimitri opened his mouth to protest, but Sylvain continued: “We’ve all done terrible things, horrible things to other people. I don’t think I have to go into detail, right?” 

He pushed a stray bit of hair behind Dimitri’s ear, water dripping off his elbow. Dimitri still looked nervous, but he was listening and that was a start. A yearning for something Sylvain couldn’t place peeked out and he let it grow, his voice straining.

“It’s because I’m not good enough, is that it?” Sylvain whispered, the words slippery like oil in his mouth. 

Fear flashed into anger across Dimitri’s face and Sylvain shivered. 

“Are you so selfish that you truly think that everything is about you? That everything between us rests on your shoulders?” Dimitri spat out, brows knitting as he pulled his arms away, fisting the fabric of his pants. “You’re just not that important.” 

His voice echoed in the bathroom, words bouncing off the fine Almyran glass tiles, spearing through Sylvain’s heart like flaming arrows. He bit his cheek, humiliated and helpless. This was how it always happened to him, the bitterness in his heart slipping out unbridled. Being naked didn’t help, it only left him vulnerable, and Sylvain bitterly felt that the least Dimitri could do was take his clothes off, too. Then they would both be truly bare.

Dimitri’s vitriol had turned the ambiance into something sour and Sylvain was left struggling with bearing the burden of blame. Their arrangement had always seemed too good to be true; nobody could be that selfless. He sighed wearily, tugging at a wet strand of hair. 

Dimitri reached out, the warmth of his hands encasing Sylvain’s, and Sylvain stared down dully as Dimitri ran his fingers across his scarred knuckles. Their hands didn’t look much different from here, fingers crooked from prior breaks, dents and bumps sneaking across knuckles and joints. Sylvain’s fingertips were wrinkled from the water and Dimitri turned his hand over, tracing the indents in his middle finger.

“I’m sorry, that was cruel.” Dimitri’s voice was quiet, not even a hint of anger marring the edges. 

_Cruelty never suited you_ , Sylvain thought. _You always were too soft._

“It’s fine, not the first time I’ve heard that, but, ouch. Way to hit me right where it hurts.” Sylvain couldn’t help the jovial tone, falling back into familiar patterns. “Hard to believe the world doesn’t revolve around me, especially when you treat me like I’m royalty.” 

Tub time was over for both of them, Sylvain decided, as he made an effort to heave himself out, water dripping onto the rug. He let Dimitri’s hands slip off of his, sinking from his vision. It was easy to ignore outside stimulus when there was a tumultuous storm raging inside of him. 

His heart screamed “stay!” but his brain told him otherwise. He knew this game. It was safer to end it on his own terms than to let someone else have that kind of control.

“Sylvain.”

“It’s really Ok. Don’t beat yourself up over it.” He reached for a towel, rubbing himself vigorously. “Are my pajamas still here? I should probably get going.”

“I’m trying to tell you-”

“Tell it to me better, then, because right now it sounds like you don’t need me very much.”

“I am _trying_ to tell you! It’s not just that,” Dimitri pleaded.

“If it’s not that, then what?” It was childish, but Sylvain couldn’t help the whine in his voice. This was starting to get tedious and frustration flared. 

Dimitri sighed. “I haven’t been able to,” Dimitri cleared his throat, hands fidgeting in his lap, “get erect for a long time and…” 

In Sylvain’s mind, a theoretical plate dropped and shattered. A fire spell caught. A door slammed shut.

“Oh. Well.” 

A frigid air overcame him, like the air off a lake in winter, and Sylvain suddenly felt very, very clueless. This wasn’t really a problem he could relate to, at all. He shifted his towel, kneeling in front of Dimitri. Their argument seemed inconsequential in the face of such raw honesty.

“How long are we talking?”

Dimitri snorted out a pathetic attempt at laughter. He let silence fill the empty spaces in the room like cotton stuffing, the density of the statement thick like smoke. Sylvain noticed his eye was closed, dark blonde lashes fanning over his flushed face, and he wanted to comfort him, reach out and run a thumb along his angular cheek.

“Since the war.”

“Excuse me?” 

“It’s been like this since the war.” 

Some sort of momentum built and he continued. “It wasn’t ever, you know, easy. Once the voices started up, well...who would feel anything but fear and anger? And to think of all the things I’ve done, all the people I’ve hurt, all the lives I’ve stolen…” He spit the last few words out, his lower lip glossy with saliva. 

“At first it felt impossible to -- to do it on my own. I was undeserving, disgusting. Eventually it -- please, don’t make me explain any further. Since then, there has been nothing.”

Sylvain leveled his breathing, keeping it soft and quiet as he took everything in. His first instinct was to make a joke, but he kept his mouth shut, chewing on his inner cheek with a frown. To him, Dimitri deserved everything, and Sylvain had gone through hell and high water to ensure his comfort and safety. The enormity of Dimitri’s grief and rage was his grief and rage, first shared as brothers in arms, then as partners. 

“Has anyone ever showed you?”

“Showed me what?” Dimitri growled. “Do you think people haven’t touched me since the war? Of course people have tried to show me. It matters not.”

“No, no no. That’s not. Here.” 

Sylvain pushed himself to his feet, Dimitri watching him cautiously. Any words he could possibly think up seemed too artificial, and any outright act of love felt too heavy-handed. He was familiar with how deep the cracks of self-doubt and self-hatred ran, and he couldn’t feasibly fill them up with proclamations of love and tender gifts. He didn’t know if this would work, but it was the least he could do. 

He ran his fingers through Dimitri’s hair, watching the pale strands cling to his wet hands. Dimitri’s posture relaxed ever so slightly, leaning into Sylvain’s touch.

“Trust me. Let me show you. We don’t have to do anything and I won’t touch you where you don’t want me to, but please, let me show you how good you make me feel.”

* * *

Getting Dimitri out of his clothes was a tenuous process, his excitement waning as more and more clothing was removed. The shirt was easy enough, his scarred chest a familiar sight, and Sylvain ran his fingers over the deep grooves reverently. Dimitri’s pants took more patience, Sylvain rewarding him with soft kisses as his hands lingered at Dimitri’s waist. It wasn’t much different from tending to a frightened horse, Sylvain mused, slow and sweet with the prospect of a reward at the end.

Once he was naked, Sylvain stood back to assess his work. Dimitri was unbelievably handsome, and Sylvain beamed at him, love and adoration in his eyes. 

He squeezed at Dimitri’s waist, fingers pushing into the firm muscle of his obliques. “OK, are you ready?”

“You really do not-”

“If you don’t want me to do this, we don’t have to.”

Dimitri stuttered, wrapping his fingers tightly around Sylvain’s. “N-no, no. Please. I’m ready.”

He kissed Dimitri’s cheek before guiding him into the tub, positioning him the same way Sylvain had laid there earlier. Sylvain hummed, fumbling around and reaching for a small cup. 

“I’m going to wash your hair, OK? Close your eyes.” 

The sound of the cup slicing through water was sharp and Sylvain tipped it over Dimitri’s head without pretense. Dimitri spluttered, spitting water and brushing his wet bangs up and over his head. If looks could kill, Sylvain was sure he would shatter - Dimitri looked obstinate, like a child, and Sylvain bit back a laugh. 

“I told you what I was doing!”

Dimitri crossed his arms, head hunched forward, and he really did look a bit like an overgrown child. “I thought this was supposed to be relaxing.”

Reaching out, Sylvain gathered his hair in his hands, pulling it into a crude attempt at a topknot, laughter unrestrained. He looked ridiculous - his mouth set in a hard pout, arms tightly crossed. There was no way the King of Fodlan was sitting in this tub right now. Surely Dimitri had been replaced with a teenager.

“I’ve never washed anyone’s hair before. It’s not as easy as it looks!”

He rummaged through the glass bottles, quickly scanning through the labels. A small green bottle with a picture of a flower on it caught his attention, boasting the benefits of “relaxation,” and he upended the contents in his hands. The scent of lavender wafted up and he hummed, nodding his head. Lavender was supposed to be relaxing, right?

“Here.” Sylvain used his free hand to guide Dimitri back. “I’ll do my best, OK? Just, please. Try to focus on me.”

Carefully, he scrubbed the soap into Dimitri’s hair, feeling the strands slip and slide between his fingers. Soap bubbled up and foamed and Sylvain ran a finger across Dimitri’s hairline, his forehead smooth beneath his thumb. 

As his fingers worked - soft soothing circles at Dimitri’s temples, his fingers swooping down to massage the base of his skull before running back up to the crown of his head - Sylvain was left to admire the piece of work he had under his hands. Dimitri’s eyes were closed, his brows slowly returning to a relaxed state. His mangled eye had closed up by now, the skin fused together, a few eyelashes left behind. There was a dent in the corner, a small opening, and Sylvain wondered if he could cry from that eye, too.

His index finger ran over an old, gnarly scar that started above Dimitri’s temple and ended at the hollow divot at the base of his skull. It felt old, twisted, like an inexperienced healer had worked on it. Whatever caused it had clearly intended to kill Dimitri, and the familiar, bitter feeling of anger welled inside of Sylvain at the idea that it would have been so easy to just extinguish Dimitri, then and there, and the moment they were having right now would have never happened in the first place.

The rest of his fingers skipped over it, back and forth, and Dimitri hummed, questioning.

“Never knew this was here.” Sylvain couldn’t stop touching it. It felt alive, real, and he pressed down slightly, feeling the indent in his skull.

“Ah, well.” Dimitri tensed again, but didn’t move. Sickly, Sylvain thought perhaps this is what he’d look like as a corpse, stiff and solid in his ritual death bath, and Sylvain quickly leaned down to kiss Dimitri’s forehead, just to feel the warmth of his living flesh. “It’s certainly old, why would you notice it with all my hair?”

Combing Dimitri’s hair sounded nicer than this conversation right now, and Sylvain bent over to pluck a comb out of one of the cups along the tub. The tines ran through Dimitri’s hair effortlessly, like a sharp blade through flesh. Sylvain focused on the repetitive movements. It was easy for him to get lost in the motions, pulling apart tangles before dumping more water over Dimitri’s head (this time avoiding his eye). 

“All done. Look at you, already more handsome.”

When he pulled back, Dimitri looked...calmer. He’d hesitate to call it good, but Dimitri’s shoulders had dropped and his face had gone slack, his mouth pulled down in a relaxed frown. 

“Next, I’m going to wash your face. Are you OK with that, too?”

The water rippled as Dimitri fiddled his feet, humming. His voice sounded distant when he responded, and idly Sylvain hoped he was still here, still present, and not lost in some other world where they both didn’t exist. “Hmm, yes, but please be careful with my bad eye. Soap can still get in.”

Rounding the tub with a washrag in hand, Sylvain gingerly took hold of Dimitri’s jaw, pulling his head ever so slightly towards him. Stubble prickled beneath his fingers, blonde hair imperceptible in the low light. 

“One day I should give you a shave.”

Dimitri’s honest chuckle warmed through Sylvain, and he peeped his eye open quickly before responding. “Seems I should make a will before I let you do that.”

Sylvain dunked the washrag in the tub, watching it float, billowing, before absorbing the water and sinking. He felt like there could be something poetic in that, in being light and empty before overfilling and drowning, and he scoffed. “My sword skills aren’t that bad.”

“Oh, dear, I didn’t know you were shaving me with a sword,” Dimitri taunted.

The soap Sylvain dabbed into the rag foamed, and he reached for Dimitri’s face, this time a little less gentle. He massaged the soap into his face in small circles, listening to the scritch scritch of the fabric over his skin. Dimitri’s eye was closed, his neck relaxed, allowing Sylvain to move his face back and forth. 

Sylvain had done a lot of intimate things in his life, and he thought he’d run out of scenarios to be thoroughly embarrassed with. But being this close to Dimitri - so close he could see the pores on his cheek - and not kissing him felt so... _raw_. It was a bit like learning how to dance, the persistent feeling of someone watching you as you stumbled. His cheeks heated up. He hoped Dimitri couldn’t feel the warmth radiating off his face. Fortunately, it seemed as if Dimitri was blissfully unaware, a small crooked smile adorning his handsome visage.

Sylvain dunked the washrag back in the water, rinsing the soap off before running the clean rag across Dimitri’s face. Droplets of water caught in his eyelashes, puddled in the indent above his lip, and Sylvain stilled, fascinated.

“You’re very handsome, you know.”

"I bet you tell everyone-” Dimitri started to reply, but Sylvain firmed his grip, silencing him.

“I know what you're going to say and you’re not wrong, I do say that to everyone, but I never mean it the same way that I mean it with you.” His voice softened, his body buzzing with anxiety. For someone who had spent their entire life dancing around their feelings, this was like speaking for the very first time.

He watched a droplet stop and start as it traveled down Dimitri’s temple, catching it with his thumb. His fingers traveled up, pressing around the socket of his damaged eye, feeling the sharp points of a broken orbital bone that healed together poorly. _Another scar nobody can see._

“You hate this.” He ran a thumb over the bridge of Dimitri’s nose, down to catch the droplets of water on his upper lip. “I don’t have to tell you how you feel, but when I see you…” His voice caught, like his breath was stuck in his throat. “I have always watched over you, ever since we were young. You never noticed, did you? You were always so self-absorbed in your own way.”

“Sylvain,” Dimitri mumbled, Sylvain’s thumb on his lip muffling his voice. He let Sylvain tilt his head to the side, let him stare at a scar that came together poorly at the base of his neck. 

“I wasn’t there for you then. It was a hard lesson for me to learn, that I can’t catch all the people I love. I’m here for you now, though, and I’ll be here until you dismiss me.”

Dimitri whimpered, small and childlike and delicate, and without asking or thinking, Sylvain bent, his lips brushing against Dimitri’s cheek. He was pliant under Sylvain’s hands as Sylvain lowered Dimitri’s head to rest on the base of the tub. The ends of his hair fanned out on the water, and he looked ethereal, otherworldly.

Snatching the bar of soap off the edge of the tub, Sylvain rubbed it between his hands before carelessly dropping it into the tub with a splunk. With his hands soapy, he palmed at Dimitri’s sides, kneading the muscles into submission before swooping down to cup his full pecs. 

Dimitri startled, water sloshing, and Sylvain laughed. 

“You got a nice pair of these, too. That definitely helps.”

“Sylvain!” Dimitri’s disdain was evident. Sylvain squeezed one side as an apology, feeling the flesh spill out between his fingers.

His hands slid over Dimitri’s tits. Dimitri had filled out since their younger years, his shoulders and arms bulking up with constant training and the demands of war. The tell-tale scar of Edelgard’s beloved dagger dug into the slope of his breast, the edges artfully closed by a talented healer. His chest was round in all the right places, and Sylvain caught himself rubbing aimlessly. His nipples were cute, oval and petal pink, the nubs small compared to his massive frame, pebbling from contact.

Deviously, he thumbed over one. He was pushing their boundaries a bit, but it would be out of character for Sylvain not to try. A cute gasp rushed out between Dimitri’s lips, but his eyes didn’t open. Taking it as a sign, Sylvain pushed further, pinching the nipple beneath his scar.

Dimitri gasped again, squirming, and Sylvain couldn’t hold back his laughter. “How does that feel?”

“Good,” Dimitri mumbled, and Sylvain continued his gentle ministrations. Dimitri’s stomach tensed, and Sylvain glanced downwards - still no erection, but he wasn’t expecting much.

“Just good, huh?” goaded Sylvain. He ran his nails tenderly down the other breast and he swore Dimitri whined.

“Nobody’s - ah, nobody’s done this before.”

Sylvain gawked. “Nobody? Truly?”

“I am...ashamed. I always keep my clothes on.”

Sylvain pouted, disappointment tugging at him. His fingers stopped, resting on Dimitri’s belly, but Dimitri failed to notice, settling down into the warm glow of newly found pleasure.

Sylvain traced the soft swell of Dimitri’s stomach, softer with peacetime. There was a gruesome scar on his lower left side, where his abdomen sloped down into his pelvis. It was deep and gouging, and no hair grew over it. It left an odd-looking bald spot and Sylvain could imagine the wincing look on people’s faces when they saw it for the first time. Otherwise, there were raised lines, like roots ending, that wrapped around his sides. They must have started from his back and wrapped around.

He fingered at the gouge, Dimitri tensing again. Was it because Sylvain was so close to his genitals or from the scar?

“Hey, hey, it's OK. I told you, no touching without your permission,” he whispered, no different from soothing a child. “Is this what you are ashamed of?”

Dimitri nodded, leaning his head into Sylvain’s shoulder. He looked smaller now, frail perhaps. 

“You don’t need to be shy with me. I have them too,” he murmured into Dimitri’s damp hair. “Plus, chicks dig scars.”

Their laughter was sad and tired. Sylvain pulled back, soaping his hands up again. 

“Are we almost done?” Dimitri asked, shy.

“Why? Getting bored already?” Sylvain responded, reaching back into the water to rub his sudsy hands over Dimitri’s thighs. They were so big, like tree trunks, roped with more, thinner scars.

“No, just,” Dimitri yawned, distorting his face, “just getting tired.”

“Oh, well. I have one last thing to do, and then only when you tell me you feel good, then I’ll let you free.”

“That’s treason, you know, trapping your king.” 

Sylvain ignored the quip, pulling his hands up higher and higher, reaching the crux of his legs, where his thighs met his groin. He felt Dimitri’s pulse flutter under his fingers, strong and synchronous.

“May I?”

Dimitri gulped, but nodded slightly.

With his heart pounding, Sylvain slid up, massaging soap between his legs, the tendons tight against his hand. His movements were sluggish in the water. Cautiously, he cupped Dimitri’s balls, waiting and watching for any change in Dimitri’s expression.

At first, Dimitri seemed perplexed, but as Sylvain continued - rubbing softly between his taint, rolling the sack in one large hand - Dimitri went back to relaxing. Sylvain could feel his balls shift in his hands and he willed his own growing erection away. 

“I’m gonna move on, OK? Get you nice and clean,” he whispered, bending down to kiss Dimitri’s cheek. Dimitri’s face was flushed, hot against his lips, but he leaned into it. It was strange, but Sylvain’s throat tightened with emotion. No one ever had the faith that he could be someone trusted.

Dimitri’s cock was soft and it bobbed with the motion of the water. It fit neatly in Sylvain’s hand, and he watched himself toy with it, soaping up around the base, wondering how it would feel in his mouth. When he pulled the foreskin back, Dimitri’s breath hitched, and Sylvain kissed his neck, needing some other point of contact. His process was methodical, nothing like the leisurely strokes he gave to prior lovers. Nonetheless, Dimitri leaned into it, looking as content as a cat in the sun.

“All done,” Sylvain said, sing-songy. His hands felt even colder as he pulled them out of the water, placing them on Dimitri’s shoulders. “Take your time opening your eyes. It’s no rush.”

He busied himself with putting away the various sundries he used, leaving Dimitri to soak in the tub. Dimitri’s soft breathing kept his mind steady, but his heart raced. He was anxious, but he couldn’t place why and it made him frustrated. He managed to keep his cool during it, but now that the task was done he felt exposed. Never in his life had he done something so boldly intimate before, let alone without a pay-off in the end. And deep down, in a small recess, he hoped that was pleasing enough to keep Dimitri tethered to him. He felt like a schoolboy given an exam, except all the questions were blank and all the answers were open-ended. 

Splashing behind him made him fumble with the jar in his hand, catching it at the last minute.

“Sylvain?” Dimitri called out. He sounded tired. It must be getting late.

“I’m right here, don’t get up, OK?” 

Sylvain shoved the remaining jars onto the shelf near the tub, scooping up a fluffy towel and scooting closer to Dimitri like a flustered maid. 

He opened his arms, the towel pulled taut. “C’mon, here you go!”

“I don’t need to be rubbed down like a child, Sylvain. I can take care of myself.” Sylvain pouted, entwining their hands to help pull Dimitri out of the tub. 

“Sure, but where’s the fun in that? I’m supposed to be caring for you.”

“Fine, fine.” 

Grumbling, Dimitri acquiesced, tolerating Sylvain’s vigorous towel rub down. Sylvain felt like he was drying off the shaggy dog his family had as a child. There was lots of surface area, a fair amount of hair, and Dimitri just managed to absorb every drop of water that he came in contact with.

He made his way up his body, drying his hair a little more gently than his body, and finishing with a quick kiss on Dimitri’s cheek. If Dimitri felt nothing from this, well, he’d definitely be disappointed, but he had to admit it was fun. Caring for others had always been conditional for him. This felt less so, the stakes low. If it failed, it was just a bath. If it succeeded, well…

“Sylvain, please, that’s enough.” Sylvain was pushed away. He must have been zoning out. “My hair is going to knot. Where are my pants?”

Dimitri was reaching for his pajamas and Sylvain jolted. “No, no. You haven’t given me a consensus, so you’re not free yet!” If he could hear eyes roll, Dimitri’s would be loud and clear. He didn’t need to hear someone else remind him how ridiculous he was being, but the best he could do was lean into it. 

Dressing someone was another skill Sylvain had yet to master. Undressing people, now, that he was good at, but as they wobbled together, Dimitri stepping into one pant leg, leaning on Sylvain as he crouched down to support him, he could appreciate the tenderness that came with covering someone up. It made him feel important, like he was preparing a special object for storage, and as he rose up off his haunches, he tried his best to commit to memory the feelings crowding beneath his breastbone.

For the first time that night, they stood face to face and Sylvain felt like he was being appraised. Dimitri’s smile was soft, a hint of satisfaction speckling the edges. His gaze was calculating, but not cruel -- it was the same look he got when he was sizing up a formidable foe. “Impressed” would maybe be a better way to describe it, but it put a sparkle in his blue eye that Sylvain could never quite figure out.

Sylvain draped his arm over Dimitri’s shoulder, guiding him out of the bathroom. He’d clean up later, once Dimitri was settled in. 

“Let’s get you to bed, Your Majesty.”

The bedroom was just as they left it, Sylvain’s boots set aside and his clothes folded on the tidy bed. It had gotten dark during their escapade, faint moonlight filtering in through the large picture window. Oil lanterns hung at intervals, casting a familiar heavy warm glow. Sometimes Sylvain though that Dimitri’s room felt more like a mausoleum than a refuge, all heavy fabrics, dark wood, and cold stone. 

With Dimitri under his arm, they sauntered together over to the bed. Sylvain turned the pillowy comforter over, guiding Dimitri to sit. 

“C’mon, into bed with you,” he chirped, pulling up the old knit blanket to smooth it out over the covers. Dimitri frowned, petulant.“What? What did I do now?” 

“Well? Aren’t you supposed to be joining me?” Dimitri said.

Sylvain laughed, shrugging, rounding the bed as Dimitri slipped under the covers. 

Getting into that big bed was what Sylvain had always imagined heaven to be like. Even as a child, when he slid under those silky sheets during their sleepovers he’d pull the blankets over his head and pretend he was somewhere else, like he warped into another world. He would run his fingers over the quilting, the textures of each stitch amplified under complete darkness. His bed at home was nothing like that, purely functional with his woolen blankets and heavy knit throws. And, of course, Dimitri wasn’t usually there.

He did that now, pulling the blankets up and over, encasing them in total darkness. It felt safer like this, where nobody could see his face. Dimitri got the hint, sliding under next to him and laying an arm across his waist. Their breaths were hot, steamy, and the familiar feeling of endlessness crept in. Outside the world persisted, in here, it was just them. 

“How did it feel?” Sylvain whispered, but his voice sounded muffled, like the world after freshly fallen snow. Dimitri hummed, low, cracking his fingers as he considered. 

“It was very nice.”

Sylvain’s face tingled, and he felt himself smile. He couldn’t see if Dimitri was smiling, too.

“Just nice, huh? Do I get any constructive criticism?” he goaded, pinching at Dimitri’s hip. The mattress shook as Dimitri squirmed.

“Well…” Dimitri started, fumbling in the dark to wrap his arms around Sylvain’s neck. His hands were still damp, sweaty from the heat of their bodies under the covers. Dimitri’s presence felt closer, and when he spoke next, his breath was hot along Sylvain’s face.

“You were a bit rough washing my face,” Dimitri chided. “I haven’t had anyone wash my hair like that since I was a child. I’m not sure anyone has touched me so gently since I was small.”

Sylvain hummed in acknowledgment. Lots of people had their hands on Sylvain in his life, or wanted to get their hands on him, but it wasn’t until he settled with Dimitri that he understood what compassion felt like. He tugged Dimitri closer, the heat of his body stifling.

“When I was captured,” Dimitri started, tugging at the back of Sylvain’s hair, “I thought, ‘I deserve this, for every time I killed with joy, for every loved one I failed or lost.’” 

“Dimitri--”

“No, please, I’m getting to a point,” he said, and Sylvain pulled him just a little bit closer, a little bit tighter. “I learned that human kindness had bounds, limits. Conditions. And I had broken all of them, and what was done to me -- the torture, the mutilation, the sheer, ruthless brutality -- was justified retribution.”

His voice started to sound a bit stuffy and he sniffled. Surely these memories must be painful. It was hard for Sylvain not to make fun, lighten the mood a bit, but something in the stale air felt different, like he was forced into submission.

“When I escaped, well, calling me a beast is an insult to animals. Do beasts kill for pleasure? Do they feel vengeance? Beasts have social systems, norms, they understand kindness to a point. If they had plans of making me a changed man in that dungeon, they planned wrong; I came out a defeated, angry monster, a weapon that they lost control of.”

Wet heat dripped along Sylvain’s neck, but he waited, listening.

“I have so much guilt. And anger. Anger you couldn’t believe, anger that I have to beat back like uncontrollable flames. Even the anger makes me guilty. Who am I to feel anger? To feel? As if having any emotions would solve anything at all, and then I feel immense, oppressive guilt for even just thinking I have any right to solve anything at all.”

Sylvain swallowed, somber. When he planned to make Dimitri feel, he didn’t plan for this kind of emotion. He understood it all, deep down. Even if their reasons weren’t the same, they both felt the same kind of pain and loss. Years of oppressive systems and war would do that to any reasonable man, and they were both not reasonable men.

“I don’t feel guilty, you know, being with you,” Dimitri’s voice softened, and the change startled Sylvain. “I never felt guilty with you, not like that. Some people might like a breath of fresh air, but I think you’re more like...handling a familiar weapon that you haven’t used in a long time. Predictably unpredictable. I like that. It’s solid ground.”

“I feel guilty from feeling, but not from being. I’m not ashamed to touch you, kiss you.” Dimitri emphasized his words with a chaste kiss to the swell of Sylvain’s pectoral. “But I’m afraid to take from you.”

“It’s not taking if I’m giving it, you know. We both exist in the same world, if you can give and I can take, certainly the reverse can be true,” Sylvain responded. He hoped he sounded gentle enough. Dimitri squeezed his arms tighter around his neck. Sylvain had started to feel like they were becoming one person under their security blankets.

“I tried, Sylvain. I really tried. I wanted to take from you tonight, whatever you wanted to give me. It felt so nice to be loved with no pretense, even if I had to pretend I was allowed to have it.”

For a moment, they were both silent, and Sylvain felt like the blankets above them suddenly weighed a thousand pounds, slotting into the edges and curves of his body like sand. All he could do was hold on tighter, let his heart pound out his anxiety and apprehension. 

“It wasn’t perfect.”

“Nobody’s perfect, but you’re pretty close,” Sylvain interrupted. He knew he sounded fake, but his anxiety was consuming him. Dimitri was going to tell him Sylvain tried, but he didn’t try hard enough. It hurt so much to do his best and still get told it was insufficient, and Sylvain had tried so hard, really, to be a bigger, better person…

“You don’t have to flatter me, you know.” Annoyance tinted Dimitri’s voice and Sylvain fidgeted with the ladders of scars that blemished Dimitri’s back. “Regardless, it was nice what you did. It was sweet, Sylvain, and some parts of it did feel good. And, if you’re amenable, I would like to...keep trying.”

“Keep...trying?” Sylvain squeaked out. That whole soliloquy and all he wanted was to ask if Sylvain wanted to do it again? Dimitri was going to be the death of him. 

“Yes, maybe in different ways. I feel that since I can trust you, perhaps this is a good time to try something new.”

Sylvain kissed his face, wet and sloppy from the humidity of their cave, holding in his jubilation. Trust wasn’t a word Sylvain’s lovers ever used for him, and something about it made his chest flutter in an unfamiliar way. It felt like falling, like riding his horse at a gallop with no place to be.

“Yeah, sure. I mean, of course! Of course. Anything for you, the whole world for you if you want it.”

“Please do not give me the whole world. We already tried that, and now I rule a continent.”

Sylvain’s laughter added to the stifling air and he affectionately rubbed his face into Dimitri’s hair, which still smelled of lavender. 

“Don’t you know it’s rude to return a gift?” Sylvain said. Dimitri huffed out of a laugh.

“I thought you were going to tell me I sucked and leave me here.” Sylvain worried. 

“I would _never._ ”

“Fine, fine. That’s what they all say.”

“Sylvain, my love?” Dimitri’s voice was small again, unbelievably tiny and delicate, and Sylvain instinctively leaned in even closer. Dimitri’s lips were slick as they met Sylvain’s, slow and syrupy sweet. “Thank you for believing in me.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. I've been a bit nervous posting this as I feel like it's not the vibe I give off! I hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> If you want to follow for updates, I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/nekotachis)
> 
> Thank you to [Purplebookcover](https://twitter.com/purplebookcover) for their exceptional beta reading services.


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